


Let Me Down So Low

by schmevil



Series: Little Deaths [3]
Category: Avengers (Comic)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Public Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-28
Updated: 2010-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmevil/pseuds/schmevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Down So Low

Tony is kissing his way down Steve's spine. Open mouthed kisses, wet and imprecise. The exam room is just on the uncomfortable side of too cool. It makes him shiver. Steve doesn't bother to hide it, because Tony likes, he _insists_, on seeing everything.

The light flickers.

"Tony." Tony doesn't move. He speaks into the small of Steve's back, a slight vibration. "Pay attention."

Tony keeps one hand braced on Steve's ass, while the other reaches around for his belt buckle. "I am," he says between kisses.

"To the lights?"

"To what's important."

"Flickering lights will draw attention." Attention they don't really need. Getting caught fooling around with his boyfriend on the SHIELD helicarrier is an experience Steve could do without. Especially with Maria Hill in charge. If anything could be worse than Nick Fury walking in on him and Peggy, it would be Hill walking in on them _now_, with Tony on his knees, behind him.

Tony hums. The lights stop flickering. Steve sincerely hopes that he's paying attention to the _cameras_. Steve braces his forearms against the wall, and lets his head hang between them. He can't see anything of Tony but his hands.

Tony could make quick work of the belt buckle, but he doesn't. His knuckles brush against Steve's belly. Glancing touches that do nothing but tease.

"Hurry up."

Tony laughs. Steve doesn't care because he also _listens_. He pulls open Steve's belt, and then his fly; pulls his pants down his thighs and leaves them hanging around his knees. If he wanted to get away right now, it would be difficult. The last thing Steve wants is to get away.

His hands settle on Steve's hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, if Steve were someone else. Hard enough to hold him in place, maybe.

Tony's breath is hot, even through his briefs. He's breathing a little too fast; a little too hard. Steve can hear him over the fans, and the omnipresent background hum that starts the moment you step onto the helicarrier. Then Tony starts up where he left off: presses his lips into the base of his spine; the crease of his ass, through fabric that's quickly getting damp.

Steve keeps his eyes shut and his face buried in his arms. All he can do is smell, and hear, and feel. Hear Tony's too-fast breathing, hear his own hitch when he- _god_. Hear Tony's belt being ripped opened, and his then his fly. He can _see_ it: Tony behind him, on his knees, one hand buried in his pants, the other clutching Steve's hip. And if anyone walked in right now, they would see him. They would see Steve leaning into the wall like he couldn't stand without it, letting Tony do whatever he wants.

Which is: pull his briefs down (too fast, so they catch on his dick), take him in a rough grip, and stroke him lazily.

Which is: tease him; tease him until he's ready to yell, even if it means they're discovered. Tease him, tracing his tongue down his crack; just the tip of his tongue, so it's never enough. Tease him, circling his hole, his hands on Steve's cheeks, now spreading him open, and finally, finally dipping inside of him.

Tony works him over, his hands and mouth all cool professionalism. Steve might feel like he was in Tony's shop, one of the armors, if it weren't for Tony's ragged breathing. If it weren't for how, in one of the few breaks that Tony allows himself, he says so damn emphatically, "Next time, we do this in front of a mirror." Steve groans at that; Tony's voice; that image; being able to _see_ him.

Then Tony gets his fingers inside him, first one, then another right after. Steve gasps, instead of breathes. Tony's not giving him _time_ to breathe. So he gasps - everything he's feeling, the faint pain of being opened up, and everything else; everything thing else that's so good.

Steve is panting, probably drooling over his arm; he's no good for anything else. Finally, when he needs it, when he needs to come so badly that he could scream out his need, Tony reaches around, and takes his dick in his hand.

And within seconds - probably seconds, everything is a blur past Tony rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick; pumping him too slow, too damn slow, and then just this side of too fast for Steve to come, but so good; pressing his fingers deep inside him just _so_; and all of it, all at once - he's coming. His mouth is already open against his arm, and he can't scream, or moan, or do anything to draw attention to them, so he sinks into his teeth, and let's go.

Tony pets him, all the way through it, and afterwords, guides him down, gently, to his knees. Tony arranges Steve so that he's taking his weight; his chest pressed to Steve's back; his dick sliding against his crease.

"Someone's coming," Tony breathes into his ear.

"Then you'd better hurry up," Steve says, grinning. He shifts his weight forward, onto his knees, then braces himself, palms flat on the grating. They don't have a condom, so Tony just rubs himself off against Steve's ass, and between his legs. Tony apparently takes it as a challenge, because he's done fast, grunting into Steve's ear, and clutching his hips like he needs them to ground him.

This time it's Steve who guides his partner to the floor. He gives Tony some grace time, while he cleans himself up, before he asks "How much time do we have?"

Tony's eyes fly open. "Shit!" He all but throws himself to his feet - no grace, just desperation, as he scrambles for something to clean himself, then scrambles for his clothes.

"Who is it?"

"What?" Tony looks up, from trying to cram himself back into his trousers, wide-eyed with panic.

"Who's coming?"

"Uh, Hill."

Damn, Steve thinks. Then he gathers the rest of Tony's clothing and hands it to him, one by one: undershirt, shirt, shoes, tie. Tony's got his tie knotted, but not straight, anything but straight, when Hill slams open the door. In the army, Steve learned how to dress in the dark, in less than a minute. Tony lacks that skill. His hair is mussed, beyond even what eight hours of sleep can accomplish, and his tie is violently askew.

Hill stops in the doorway, nods at Steve - the shallowest nod she can get away with - and then gives Tony a once over. Her left eyebrow arches. Her mouth, usually set in an angry line, curls into a smirk.

"Briefing in five," she says.

"We'll be right there." Tony's voice is even, unconcerned. He wouldn't be giving anything away, if it weren't for his clothes.

Maria gives Tony another long look. Steve braces himself, mentally. Hill just turns and walks away. Leaving the door open behind her.

Tony adjusts his tie, and runs a hand through his hair.

"Ready?" Steve asks.

Tony looks up - it's obvious to Steve that he's on edge. "Yeah, let's go."

Steve could take Tony's hand in his to gentle him. He could push him back against the wall. Kiss him slow, and just how he likes it. He wants to touch him.

But not now that Hill's been here. Not with the door open, on the Hellicarrier, in what has, since Nick disappeared, become hostile territory. With extremis, Tony has an incredible level of control over computers, but, they've taken enough chances today.

So when Tony says, "Come on," and heads for the door, Steve does too. Timing it so that he brushes against his lover on the way out. Nothing suspicious, but enough for Tony to feel it. He looks down to find the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

Next time they're doing this somewhere they'll have all night, and no risk of interruption.


End file.
